Cancer log 88: Hair today, gone tomorrow.
I'd forgotten how great super-short hair feels. The woman at the salon was hilarious -- I walked in and said I wanted a pixie cut, and she looked at me and asked, "Are you going to cry?" I assured her that I would not cry, but she was only halfway convinced. She held her scissors up to one of my braids and said, "Cut here?" And I said, "Or higher, if you like," and she said, "Okay." I suppose it's a lot to take off at once, but given that I had hair down past my waist for a decade or so, it doesn't actually feel that dramatic. She eventually got really into the cut, assuring me that even with all the grey (which she repeatedly told me I should dye, because I'm too young to have this much grey, and I'm sure that spiel is not motivated at all by the extra business it would bring her), the new cut was super-sexy. I should keep it like this all the time (which would also mean coming back in for frequent haircuts). She assured me that my husband would love it. I didn't have the heart to tell her that he's only going to get to love it for a couple of weeks, before it all falls out. smile emoticon